


absences

by cosmicevil



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Jealousy, M/M, Mission Fic, Pining, Porn With Plot, the dragons - Freeform, yes those dragons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:13:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26591197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicevil/pseuds/cosmicevil
Summary: Hanzo's dragons are MIA, and McCree can't stop thinking about it. Of course, he could just ask the man himself— but that would be too easy, wouldn't it?
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 3
Kudos: 69





	absences

It isn’t until they’ve been fighting side by side for over six months that Jesse realizes he’s never seen Hanzo’s dragon. Or dragon _ s _ , as Genji had told him, once. He considers asking, at first; Hanzo has been forthright with all of them since the moment he got here, no matter if he wanted to be or not, but it seems callous. Even for Jesse, who’s barely spoken a word to him that wasn’t out of necessity. 

It’s not as if he sees Hanzo much around the Watchpoint, anyway. He clearly makes a concerted effort to stay away from all of them, even Genji. Whenever Jesse does manage to catch a glimpse of him, it’s always late at night or much too early in the morning, when he’s spurred awake by nightmares or unable to sleep at all. Hanzo looks the same each time: pale, exhausted, and yet somehow also tightly wound. Jesse will nod at him, or offer a quiet “Howdy,” but Hanzo never speaks in return. 

While Jesse is curious about the absence of the dragons, he doesn’t really know how they work anyway, and it’s not worth making Hanzo uncomfortable over. He’s clearly trying, maybe even too hard, to make peace with both the members Overwatch and himself, and Jesse doesn’t want to subvert that just to sate his curiosity. 

Hanzo is… a beast in the field, dragons or no dragons. The speed at which he is able to scale walls, draw his bow from his back and fire an arrow into the eye of a man 500 feet away is incredible. Jesse can’t help but stare sometimes, too often. Genji teases him for it incessantly when he catches him, and Jesse hides his reddening face under the brim of his hat. 

“Ha! To think you wanted to murder him on my behalf. Now you can hardly stop yourself lusting after him, eugh.” Genji pokes him in the ribs with a metal finger. They’re sat together at a bench in the Rialto’s city square, Hanzo perched like a gargoyle atop a balcony up on their left.

At some point between when Genji had sought him out and when he had been solidified as a permanent member of Overwatch, Hanzo had shorn the back of his hair and traded out his traditional clothing for something more casual, better suited for the oncoming cold weather. Jesse has found that this has not helped him to stare at Hanzo less, not in the slightest. (The bridge piercing almost did him in, when he had first seen it.) 

“Listen,” Jesse says. “It ain’t my fault he’s damn fine.” He doesn’t mention the residual pang of guilt for lusting over the person who killed his best friend (even if it wasn’t permanent). “Though I don’t think he’d ever go for the likes of me.” 

Genji scoffs besides him, but keeps his mouth shut, for once. Moments later, Hanzo’s voice filters into Jesse’s ear. “I see him. He is exciting the building to your left.” He sees Genji casually turn his head towards said building out of the corner of his eye.

“Copy,” Jesse murmurs. The mark is a young man, maybe late twenties, with a rich boy’s arrogance about him. Arrogant enough to dismiss the bodyguards his father had sent with him, to wander the city alone despite being perfectly aware of the amount of people who wanted him dead. It works in their favor, of course, but Jesse still finds it strangely irritating. 

All they have to do is follow him at a distance, discreetly, avoid the guards that are no doubt still lurking about, and find out whether or not his family is working with Talon. Hanzo is there for cover fire if things go bad, or in case they lose the kid. It should be easy, all things considered, but there’s a tight pit of anxiety in Jesse’s gut despite the lack of a true source. He supposes it seems too easy, is all. 

He doesn’t get much time to ruminate on it before Genji is urging him up off the bench. “Come on,” he mutters. “It looks like he’s headed towards the car, there.” Sure enough, there’s a sleek black limousine waiting on the curb that Genji nods to. “Go distract him,” he instructs. “I’ll stay back.” 

Jesse grumbles but ambles over, trying for a casual pace, keeping an eye out for any guards. “Howdy, partner,” he says when he reaches the kid, who stops in his tracks. His eyes are wary as he looks Jesse up and down. 

“Who are you?” His accent is thick, as thick as Jesse’s own. “Why are you so.. American?” He sounds mildly disgusted, as if Jesse is the corpse of a rat he’s just stepped on by mistake, but there’s interest in his eyes when he looks Jesse up and down again. 

“Nobody,” Jesse replies. “Jus’ thought you was cute, is all.” The kid turns to face him fully, dismissing the limousine behind him with a flick of his wrist. The driver hesitates, but drives away after he receives a harsh glare from the mark. Jesse sees a hulking dude out of the corner of his eye edge ever closer to them, but he figures as long as the kid is within eyesight they won’t make a move.    


“Is that so?” He sidles closer. “What is your name?”   


“Joel,” Jesse lies. Smooth as ever. “What about yours, sugar?”

The kid hums. “Gian.” It’s a fake name, of course, apparently he isn’t  _ that _ stupid. “I don’t like your name.  _ Joel. _ ” He spits it out, and Jesse feels himself grow indignant despite it being an alias. “I shall call you cowboy, instead.”    
  
The way he says it reminds Jesse, strikingly, of Hanzo. Hanzo, who’s undoubtedly watching this whole awkward display play out just above them. He can’t tell if the thought comforts or embarrasses him. 

Gian must sense his mind wandering, because he gives a sharp tug on Jesse’s arm. “Well, cowboy? Are you going to fuck me, or has this disappointingly slow interaction just been a waste of my time?” Well. Apparently he  _ is  _ that stupid. Jesse sends a silent prayer that Genji is out of sight before he turns them around. 

“‘Course, kid. Jus’ wanted to make sure I wasn’t about to get shot, is all.” Jesse takes a risk, inclining his head to the aforementioned man, who’s slowly been inching closer. Gian’s eyes narrow, but he keeps them on Jesse’s own as he gives a sharp whistle. The man backs off. 

He knows the city better than Jesse does, so there’s little chance he’ll be able to get him into an alleyway without raising some alarm. He can take him to the hotel they’ve been staying at, which runs the risk of one or both of them being recognized; but it’s the best plan he’s got, what with how they didn’t expect the kid’s outing to be nearly cut short. 

“So,” Jesse says to him, “Where were you headed before I stole ya?” He tries to keep his tone casual, light. He catches the glimpse of a golden hair ribbon when he turns his face against the sun. 

Gian snorts at him. “Home,” he says, like the word is poison. “Back to my father’s clutches.” 

“Ah,” Jesse says to him. “One of those families, I see.” 

He sighs. “Yes, unfortunately. But it’s bearable, most days.” He doesn’t offer up any more information after that, and Jesse doesn’t press for fear of seeming too obvious. He’s caught between a hatred and sympathy for the kid, though every time he tugs Jesse uncomfortably closer, or insults him, it veers more towards the former. 

By the time they reach Jesse’s hotel the kid has clearly grown tired of talking at all, somehow, and Jesse’s forced himself to fill the silence with talk of his time as a bartender. Gian clearly doesn’t give a single shit, but he barely lets an inch between them, and Jesse finds himself thinking of Hanzo. Would be nice, he thinks, if this were Hanzo. 

“Here,” Jesse says to him when they make it up to his room. “Lemme take your coat.” Gian tosses it on the floor, ignoring Jesse’s outstretched hands, and launches himself at him, pawing at Jesse’s belt. He tries to slow them down, offers a “Woah, hey there, kid, gimme a sec-” but is cut off by the sound of shattering glass and yet another body colliding with the one on top of him. 

“Do not move,” Jesse hears Hanzo growl. He forces himself up and is confronted with the sight of him, perched atop the back of Gian’s thighs as he ties the kid’s wrists together. Hanzo is s breathing heavily, and there are shards of glass caught in his hair. It looks like one has cut his cheek. Jesse can’t help but think he paints quite the picture like that. 

Underneath the cotton of his long sleeved shirt, there is a faint, blue glow. Jesse spends way too much of the next few moments gaping at it, watching the shapes writhe and move beneath the cloth. Maybe watching Hanzo’s biceps bulge as he squeezes Gian’s wrists together.

“What the fuck,” the kid is repeating over and over, sometimes in English but mostly in Italian, and Jesse has the forethought to lurch over and slap his metal hand over Gian’s face just before he starts screaming. 

Hanzo looks up at him, and their eyes meet. There’s something there, Jesse thinks, but all Hanzo does is nod. “Good call.”

Genji bursts in not moments later. “They’ve followed us. This will have to be quick.” He pauses. “What happened here?”

Hanzo grimaces, and tightens his thighs across Gian’s writhing figure. Jesse does his very best not to notice. “I thought McCree was being attacked,” he says, almost sheepishly. Genji responds with a frustrated grunt. 

“I’ll go take out the guards. Do not take longer than you have to.” And he’s gone.

“Thanks,” Jesse tells Hanzo, hoping it’s as sincere as he feels. 

“Listen.” He directs this at Gian, who has given up screaming and is now simply glaring at him. “I’m sorry, kid, but you gotta tell us about your family’s involvement with Talon.” 

Gian keeps glaring. Hanzo grabs his finger and bends it back. “My friend here ain’t as nice as I am, you know? He’s pretty strong, too, if you haven’t been able to tell.” The kid starts thrashing again, yelling what Jesse can only assume are obscenities into his hand. Hanzo sighs and breaks his finger. 

More screaming. Then, silence, and the glare has less force to it, now. “Can we talk now?” Jesse asks. Gian nods, wearily.    
  
The first thing out of his mouth is a fervent, “Let me the fuck up or I’ll start screaming again.” Hanzo looks to Jesse, who nods, before reluctantly standing. Jesse moves his metal hand to grab Gian’s wrists and haul him up, then shove him back down onto the bed in a sitting position.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” the kid says.

Jesse sighs. “So I’ve been told.”

Next to him, Hanzo begins hastily packing up Jesse’s things for him. It’s not much- a couple of serapes, a few extra boxes of rounds for Peacekeeper. His hands are bleeding, Jesse realizes, a thousand tiny scrapes and cuts on his fingers and wherever his yugake doesn’t cover. He stares, wanting to thank him, for packing his things, for trying to save him, for being here at all. He barely realizes the kid has started speaking, until he starts shouting. 

“Are you even fucking listening? I’m giving you want you want!”

Jesse winces at the volume. “Shit, okay, calm down, kid.”

“And stop fucking calling me a kid,” Gian growls, but Jesse can tell he’s getting worn out. “Listen this time, okay? I don’t have any fucking clue what my father gets up to. I’m not his  _ firstborn _ .” Jesse hears Hanzo still, at that, but Gian doesn’t seem to notice. “But I know he was involved with Giordani, before he was killed. He was over at our place a lot. They talked alone, a  _ lot _ . I guess, right before he died, Giordani did something to piss my father off. I have no idea what, so don’t ask. But he stopped coming around, and my father was around a lot less.” 

Jesse raises an eyebrow. All this work for something they already assumed was true? “You never overhead them? Never heard Talon’s name being thrown around?” 

Gian shakes his head. “I didn’t realize Giordani was with them until after he died. And my father has always preferred independence over partnership. I told you, it’s all I know. He doesn’t tell me jack shit; you’d have better luck with my older brother.” 

Jesse narrows his eyes. “You’re willing to sell out your own damn brother like that?’

Gian shrugs. “We’ve never been close. Can I go now?” He’s rather confident that he won’t be killed. Jesse wasn’t planning on it, but every time the kid smirks he gets closer to considering it.    
  
Hanzo looks strangely off-balance when his eyes meet Jesse’s again. “The brother, then,” he says to him. 

Jesse nods. “The brother.” 

-

They leave the kid in the hotel room; the guards will find him soon enough. Genji meets up with them after dark, as they wait near the waterline for the Orca to touch down. Hanzo and Jesse had split up for a time, sure that Gian’s father would have his guards looking for people who looked as distinctly as they did in a city like Rialto, but no one had come for them, and they had escaped to the extraction point with ease.    
  
Too much ease. Jesse tries not to think about it. 

Genji says something to Hanzo in Japanese that makes him flush and glare. He gestures to Jesse, then pokes Hanzo in the chest; Hanzo says something grumbled in return, and Genji appears to lay off him.

“That could’ve gone better,” he says in English. Jesse nods. 

“Yeah, probably. But at least we got what we came for, yeah? And thanks, by the way.” He directs this at Hanzo, who looks at him sharply. “For, uh, savin’ me.”   
  
“He never intended to harm you.” Hanzo looks away. 

“Well, sure, but that don’t change the fact that you came to my rescue. I didn’t wanna have sex with the kid.” 

Hanzo flushes again at that. “I am glad I could be of assistance.” 

“You’d best tell Angela about those scrapes,” Jesse says, nodding at Hanzo’s hands. Hanzo bows his head. 

“If you wish.”

Genji watches the entire exchange with a smirk on his lips. “I will make sure that he does,” he promises Jesse. It does make him feel better. 

-

Hanzo goes back to avoiding Jesse upon their return to the Watchpoint, but maybe less fervently than before. They catch each other nearly every other night now, and Hanzo actually conversates with him before scampering off back to his room, cup of tea in hand. 

Jesse is haunted by the sight of Hanzo’s dragons writhing beneath his skin, the glimpse he caught when they had worked on Gian. They had yet to return to seek out the brother, assuming the family was on high alert that whole debacle, and had been occupying themselves with smaller, menial missions since then. All this truly means is that Jesse has had no opportunity to see this display again, and it’s wearing on him more than it should. 

He practically aches with the desire to ask Hanzo about the dragons’ absence. Jesse doesn’t know why the curiosity is so overwhelming like this; it goes beyond his physical attraction and into something more dangerous, more intimate. It makes him feel awkward, unwieldy, whenever he’s around Hanzo, like he’s a teenage boy with a goddamn crush.

There’s no doubt whether or not Hanzo would tell him; if anything, Jesse’s only gotten more confident with time that he might even do it willingly, rather than grudgingly. But still, the thought of crossing some sort of line keeps Jesse’s mouth shut. He figures he’ll just have to wait this obsession out. 

“There is something on your mind,” Hanzo says to him one night as they sip spiked tea at the kitchen island. Jesse’s gotten pretty good at convincing Hanzo to stay for more than a few minutes, now. “Would you care to share it with me?”

_ So damn polite _ , Jesse thinks. And for what? Jesse had been anything but polite to him in the past. Guilt rises in him, and he chases it down with a sip of tea.  _ To be quite honest, Hanzo, I can’t stop thinking about them damn dragons you have. I can’t stop thinking about how badly I would like to see them, see if they’re like Genjis or if they’re bigger, more dangerous. Also, I want to fuck you very damn badly, but I think even you deserve better than the likes of me.  _

Jesse isn’t sure he’d want to say this even if he could. It gets pretty damn sad near there at the end. “Nah,” is all he says instead. “Just- well. I’m sorry I was an asshole to you, when you first got here. It was shitty of me.” 

Hanzo blinks at him in what looks like surprise. “It’s quite alright. I would’ve been surprised if you had not reacted to my presence with some animosity.” 

Jesse frowns. “Still. I’m, uh, I’m sorry about it.” 

Hanzo shakes his head at him, as if he were a foolish child, but a smile dances on his lips as he brings his mug to his mouth. Jesse watches that smile. 

He finds that he can’t stop watching, even when Hanzo catches him. He sees Hanzo’s cheeks flush, and finds it endearing that someone with of his stature has such an honest and visible tell. 

“McCree,” Hanzo says to him.    
  
“Jesse.”

“Mc _ Cree _ ,” Hanzo replies, indignant. “You are drunk.”   
  
“Am not,” Jesse lies.

Hanzo sighs. “I am drunk, then. It is time we went to bed.” Jesse finds himself nodding, following Hanzo out of the kitchen. He’s tipsy, sure, but he’s nowhere near blackout drunk. He’ll remember this.    
  
He’s almost positive Hanzo’s in the same boat. 

They stop at the door to Jesse’s room, placard just barely visible in the dimly-lit hallway. “Well-” Hanzo starts, just before Jesse turns to face him and gently shove him against the wall.    
  
“Are you really that drunk?” Jesse whispers in Hanzo’s ear. He isn’t handsy, not yet; he keeps his prosthetic on the wall next to Hanzo’s head, the other one firmly planted on Hanzo’s chest. He can feel his heartbeat quicken.   
  
“No,” Hanzo returns. His eyes meet Jesse’s. “Are you?”

Jesse shakes his head, and then he kisses him. He knows, okay, that he definitely shouldn’t be doing this right now, that communication is tentative at best between them, but, Hanzo’s lips are so unfairly soft, for a man so hard all over, and he can’t force himself away. 

Hanzo kisses him back, thank God, fervently even, hotly, gripping at Jesse’s shoulders for dear life. He breathes wet against Jesse’s lips when they pull apart to breathe, foreheads resting against each other, chests heaving. “Athena, open the door, please,” Jesse says. They hear the door slide open next to them.    
  
“Yeah?” Jesse asks him. “‘Cause if you wanna- if you wanna stop, Hanzo, you got it. We don’t have to-”   


Hanzo cuts him off with a hand on his mouth, shoves him into the room and all the way over to the bed. He climbs atop Jesse like a damn feline, all sleek muscles, smooth movement. “I have been wanting to do this for so very long, McCree.” He looks almost embarrassed by the confession, but it doesn’t stop him from grinding his hips against Jesse’s own. 

“Holy fuck,” he breathes out. Hanzo gives him the barest of smiles as he repeats the motion, over and over, until his head is hung low, his arms tremble where they’re braced on either side of Jesse’s shoulders, until Jesse says “Fuck this,” and pulls his belt off, shoves down his pants. Hanzo does the same, gets their dicks out through the slits in their boxers and brings them together in one calloused hand. 

Jesse doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol making everything pass in a whir like this, or just his own pent-up desire, but he finds himself throwing his hips into Hanzo’s own with increasing desperation until they’re writhing together on the bed like a pair of animals. The air between them is heavy, damp, and he can feel Hanzo’s hand go and slick with their precome. “ _ Hanzo _ ,” Jesse groans, running a shaking hand up into Hanzo’s hair, tugging the hair tie free until his hair hangs around them in a curtain. 

Hanzo comes, just like that, and Jesse massages his head through it, grips Hanzo’s hand that holds both their dicks in the other and forces himself to keep going. 

“McCree,” Hanzo gasps. 

Jesse grunts “Call me by my name, baby, come on.” Hanzo manages to find the energy to glare at him before Jesse presses his thumbnail into Hanzo’s slit. At this, he nearly wails, clapping a hand over his mouth at the last second. 

“ _ Jesse, _ ” he gasps, when he finally settles down. He lets out a curse in Japanese. 

Jesse barely notices; just like before, the dragons ripple under Hanzo’s shirt, under his skin. It’s fainter this time, probably the adrenaline rush wearing off, but they’re  _ there _ , bright and visible. 

The sight makes Jesse come, fast as a bullet, spilling over Hanzo’s hand. “Hanzo, fuck, holy shit.”

Hanzo looks much too self-satisfied when Jesse gathers the energy to open his eyes again. He brings his messy hand to his mouth and kitten-licks his own fingers. Jesse groans and throws an arm over his face. 

“Baby, Christ almighty,” he says. “You’re trying to kill me.” 

“Perhaps.” Hanzo replies. Though he cannot see him, Jesse hears the smile in his voice. 

He leaves but for a moment, probably to wash his hands, as Jesse lies boneless in bed. It would be awkward if he was awake enough to think about it, but as it is he can barely keep his eyes open. He lazily pats the spot next to him, and Hanzo complies, sliding under the covers and throwing a tentative arm over Jesse’s middle. “Uh uh,” Jesse grumbles, and he can  _ feel _ Hanzo freeze, start to move away. 

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Be quiet,” Jesse mumbles, knowing exactly how he sounds and too tired to care. “You’re the one gettin’ cuddled tonight, buddy.” Hanzo looks at him in confusion; Jesse bullies him onto his side and curls up behind him. 

“Oh,” Hanzo breathes. 

Jesse sighs in return. “Yep. G’night.”

“...Goodnight, Jesse.” 

**Author's Note:**

> this pairing and fandom has drawn me back into its clutches. she is a cruel mistress.


End file.
